In My Head
I got my first period at age 10 (pretty early, I know). Throughout my teenage years, I don’t think I truly experienced any kind of hormonal swings based on my menstrual cycle. Of course, I always had physical symptoms, like break-outs on my face and especially horrendous cramps that caused me to miss a few days of school nearly every month. Heck, I’d even admit to the odd carbohydrate craving. But I never felt the craziness that I always heard about from TV, books, or from older women. I started to believe that PMS was either a figment of the imagination, or a complete fabrication to excuse occasional bitchiness.
However, in the past four or five years, I have come around and am now an ardent believer in PMS. And it’s gotten worse over the years, not better. There have been a few times during which I have come disturbingly close to convincing myself that killing my husband in a fit of rage over some oversight on his part (loading the dishwasher the “wrong way” or failing to turn on the outside house light when he gets home before me at night) could be deemed justifiable homicide. I have had terrible outbursts over seemingly inconsequential matters during some of my PMS weeks. This past week, Brian did something that otherwise would have only mildly annoyed me, but my initial reaction was to shriek “I want a divorce!” Ahem. Guess my hormones are getting their revenge on me now, for my earlier disbelief in their power.
The thing that surprises me about all this is that I have been on birth control for over ten years, and I thought that the Pill would have a more regulatory effect on my hormones. But I suppose that’s an incorrect assumption.
So I was chatting about this topic over the weekend with my cousin, who is only a year younger than I. She, too, has noticed a shift in her own emotional stability during the dreaded PMS week. She suggested that I talk to my doctor about taking an anti-depressant only during that one week out of each month.
Now, not to get all Tom Cruise on you, dear readers, but I’ve been down the Paxil road before, and while I agree it has its place…I don’t think it’s necessarily the answer to my PMS problems. First of all, most Ads take several weeks, if not months, to kick in. So it wouldn’t make much sense to only take it for a week each month. Also, I spent about six months on Paxil in 2003 for a mild panic problem I was experiencing at the time, and I gained about 15 pounds. Even while exercising regularly and eating less. Yikes. You think that PMS bloat is bad? Try the AD weight gain! Sure, my panic went away, but I had to buy a whole new wardrobe, and I hated getting naked in front of Brian knowing I was heavier. Talk about depressing. I had no sex life and had to drop a wad of cash on new, bigger clothes. Gah.
So I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ll just have to deal with the demons for a few days each month, while repeating to myself, “It’s just PMS, it’s just PMS…I don’t really want to divorce Brian, it’s just PMS…” Fortunately, Brian knows me well enough at this point that he understands he must keep his distance during those times. Poor guy. I guess it’s just that self-preservation instinct kicking in.
Labels: deep thoughts, health, marriage, stress
